Tell No One
by CatBru
Summary: AU past 'The Telling' with information found in Season Three. WIP
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Tell No One -- Prologue  
**Author:** CatherineBruce  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** I own nuthin! Didn't break 'em, I only borrowed 'em! Any emotional stress these characters display after I return them was already there. I swear it!  
**Spoilers:** Up to 'The Telling' with information found out in Season Three. AU.  
**Author's Notes:** This story takes place during those Two Years. Definitely AU, definitely a WIP. Wasn't really sure which category to place it so I plopped it here. Hopefully I won't face a flogging squad and be flogged with Slimy Things!

For the first time in six months she felt the warm sun shine down on her face. Closing her eyes, she allowed the brisk breeze to cool her skin before taking the next steps out of the facility and down the stairs. With the entire world spread out before her she felt a certain amount of freedom. Even though she knew that they were watching, would probably always be doing so, every step increased the feeling of self control returning to her. Stubbornly strands of blonde hair waved in her face as though to remind her of the shackles that bound her to her captors, but she brushed the thought of _them_ aside and behind her ear with a flick of her wrist. Sometimes the illusion of freedom was better than none at all.

Soon she hoped that the illusion would become reality. One day they would stop watching her so closely, assured that she was their loyal little pawn, and then she would be able to make her move. What it was she didn't know, but there was plenty of time to plan.

Until then though, she would play her role of Julia Thorne, just another alias to wear like a wig so easily discarded once she was through. One day she would be able to throw off this disguise with the Tuesday morning garbage, and finally be Sydney Bristow once again.

_-end Prologue_

**Author's Notes 2:** While I plan on continuing this, updates may get to be sporadic. Not because I'm trying to hold anything back, but because sometimes it's difficult to transfer fanfic from paper to computer while in Iraq. Eep! Also, I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants here. Never really wrote anything requiring a plot before, so if it gets sloppy it's a trial and error process!

And no fear, Younglings! Chapter One is finished, I just needa tweak it. Thanks to Twichie for making this all pretty!

(Also, I got the idea for this while reading Harlen Coben's _Tell No One._ It's not based on the book or anything, but I did get the inspiration from it some how. Hence the title.)


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Tell No One -- Chapter One  
**Author:** CatherineBruce  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** I own nuthin! Didn't break 'em, I only borrowed 'em! Any emotional stress these characters display after I return them was already there. I swear it!  
**Spoilers:** Up to 'The Telling' with information found out in Season Three. AU.  
**Author's Notes:** This story takes place during those Two Years. Definitely AU, definitely a WIP. Wasn't really sure which category to place it so I plopped it here. Hopefully I won't face a flogging squad and be flogged with Slimy Things!

Thanks to Twichie for making this all pretty!

It was the same dream, the one that had sent him bolting upright in his bed shaking in a cold sweat in those early weeks following the accident. At first the dream had been a nightly occurrence, one of the few tangible memories he had of that time spent trying to just survive until finally turning to insomnia and scotch. Slowly the space of nights between the dreams would grow longer until an entire month would go by. Inevitably the dream would return, and all the time spent trying to move on and let go would be for naught, and he found himself once more longing for the ashes that floated in the pacific.

Tonight the dream was back after nearly six weeks, melting into his subconciousness, like a lover its familiarity. The familiar smoke clogging his lungs, burning his throat.

_He moved along through the fallen beams and debris, everything burned black, careful not to disturb the open grave that had once housed vibrant life. Figures moved around him, faceless in their anonymity, only living specters in this dream._

The arch leading to the living room was still partially erect, shattered and burned, and for a moment he leaned against it uncaring of the black soot that clung to his suit. He moved from it, looking now for only one thing. And then he saw her.

Or rather, what was left of her.

More faceless figures floated around her, incorporeal in their flitting about to her stillness. Intangible thoughts coursed through his mind as he slid down a wall, soot on his face streaked through with salt water. The other body lay some distance from hers, but he paid it no mind, because she was the only one there with him.

Gone,_ he thought. It was the only coherent one he had. Normally this was where the dream would send him crashing back to reality with a force that left him quaking in sheets or on cushions. Tonight though, he kept sitting there._

Then, so slowly he thought he might be imagining, would have sworn he had been were it not for the charred skin flaking off, her head turned towards him. The pungent odor of burned flesh assaulted his senses.

He couldn't move as the sunken remains of her eyelids opened, couldn't cry out when two eyes stared blankly out at him.

Her beautifully brown, impossibly intact eyes.

Through nonexistent lips a final breath escaped her, carrying to him the stronger smells of death and decay, and he thought he heard the raspy sound of his name passing over a destroyed larynx. Vaughn.

It's there that he finally wakes up, adrenaline pumping into his system, sweat seeping from his pores, into the sheets that now tangled at his feet. His stomach roiled as he sat up, forcing him to steady himself, breath ragged and heartbeat erratic. Vaughn swung his legs over the side of his bed, casting a glance at the alarm clock as he did so.

Two AM. Great.

Sleep would not claim him again tonight. Experience had taught him that. Getting up, he entered his living room and turned on the television. The familiar antics of late night sitcoms filled his apartment with enough background noise to drown out most of the ghosts in his head. The bottle he grabbed from the fridge would either help drown out the rest or amplify their song until there was nothing left. He wasn't sure which was worse, but knew which was preferable.

"I dreamed again tonight." He didn't clarify as he took a long swallow, didn't need to because the specters knew. "I thought you were done with them, that you're done making me relive that. Why aren't you?"

He waited, only half expecting an answer tonight. One did come, though only after his second long pull of liquor into his mouth.

_Because,_ she whispered softly into his ear and if he closed his eyes tight enough he could almost feel her on the couch next to him, could almost smell her. _You're not ready for me to._

---

_Its time._

She had been amazed at how quick and easy it had been to convince them of the lie that Sydney was dead. A part of her had expected, almost even hoped for more of a challenge from the powerful force that still held her captive. _But then, everyone else to go through the reconditioning had been broken. Why not me as well?_

She almost laughed out loud at the complacency within the Covenant regarding their pet projects. They had become lax when it came to monitoring their activities, every faith in the world at their reconditioning. Julia bit back the mirth before it could escape to attract unwanted attention to herself. Their foolishness was exactly what she needed, and it would be their downfall.

They would pay.

Of course, she wasn't stupid enough to assume she held complete freedoms. The last time she had done that she had found her fiancé dead in a tub. She knew they still occasionally followed her, tapped into her phone calls. She even caught a couple operatives give half hearted attempts at following her movements.

Still, even with the sloppiness displayed, she carefully covered her tracks as she used the cyber cafe in a city close to that of her current assignment. She used an untraceable email account. A message that she prayed only he would understand.

For a long moment she stared at the familiar address in the 'to' box, and uncertainty clouded her thoughts. It had been eight months since she had last seen him, making plans for a beach and a giraffe, and since that time she had literally been beaten into a new person. A plethora of _what if's_ paraded through her mind, each one battling another for dominance. What if he had moved on? What if he took one look at what she had become, what she had been forced to do, and ran?

Then from behind all the others came a new _what if,_ fighting its way from the back of her thoughts to the front and finally gave her the courage to hit the send button.

_What if he's still waiting for me?_

The page loaded to show that the massage had been sent and for the first time in months her thoughts of bringing down the Covenant were momentarily dimmed by the image of the face that had kept her sane since the beginning of all of this.

---

_The crow hopped along the aged wooden fence, eyeing him speculatively. It fluffed its feathers and ran a beak over a sleek wing, then flapped the short distance towards him. Perching on an unbent knee, it turned a beady eye in his direction. He stared at it for a moment, mesmerized as the shadows of the tree above him created a mottled pattern across the aviary body. So intent was he in his study that he jumped when the bird squawked._

And squawked.

And squawked.

And kept on squawking until Eric realized it was not a crow but his alarm clock and that he was not in a wooded paradise but instead in his own LA apartment.

Not that his apartment was all that bad. After all he was just a stone's throw away from the beach. Of course that perk came with the downside of having to get up half an hour earlier just to make it to work on time.

The sacrifices one makes for surf and sun.

Somehow managing to roll out of bed without abusing the snooze button - a vice of his dating back to his high school days - Weiss underwent the familiar and tedious monotony of getting ready; shower, shave, dress to impress. Looking in the bathroom mirror he straightened his tie, the shirt's high collar the scar from view. He thought about how his mother would be so proud that her baby boy could tie a tie all by himself.

Of course his mother was proud of him. Her baby boy was somewhat of a small time hero of the Weiss family. One of his cousins took to calling him Spooky and asking how many aliens he had chased down.

_Dude,_ The X-Files_ is FBI,_ he had told her once. Still the name Spooky stuck and even his younger cousins took to calling him that.

Before he left the apartment he made sure to water his plant. He was still amazed that he had kept it alive ever since Sydney gave it to him after the shooting. He even had to change its pot more than once. Who knew? Mamma's baby boy also had a green thumb.

As he drove to work and into the garage he thought about the one thing he knew his mother was not too pleased with. He would see it in her eyes when he visited and hear it in her voice when he spoke to her on the phone. He knew she loved large families. She longed for the day when she could spoil the children of her only son. He also knew she had thought that the day should have come much sooner.

It wasn't that he didn't want a wife and kids. The thought of little Weisslings running around underfoot and a Weissette to kiss and snuggle at the end of the day had a very large appeal to it. He just never found anyone with that spark.

He had seen first-hand what a spark could do to two people. He saw the passion it ignited. Unfortunately for his eyes sometimes a bit too literally. One should _not_ have to see his best friend performing acrobatic acts quite like _that_ with his girlfriend. But did he want something like that? Heck yeah.

He had also seen what happens when you lose someone you were so entirely crazy for. Even eight months later, Mike was almost as much a wreck as he was in the beginning. He saw the ghost of Bristow in his friend's eyes every time he saw him. Did the thought of that happening to him scare the crap out of him? Heck yeah.

Weiss was somewhat surprised to find that he had managed to get to his desk. He remembered little of his journey from the garage to his cubby. Shrugging, he slid into his chair and pulled up his user account on the computer. He logged onto his email account. It was something he did every morning before anything else, even before he grabbed that first vital cup of coffee. There was nothing in his email and he quickly switched over to Mike's account. Vaughn had asked him to look into his email every so often to delete spam that somehow slipped through the security settings. He also passed along any important information while Mike was on his extended leave of absence.

Nothing from any contact or friend though there were a couple of offers for free Viagra and credit cards. Weiss began to clear out the inbox when one header caught his attention.

FREE HOCKEY FOR BOY SCOUT.

Seeing his friend's codename struck him as somewhat odd and curiosity made him open it. When the message finally came up his heart thumped at the three lined haiku.

HOCKEY FOR BOYSCOUT  
GO TO BEFORE ZAMBONIE  
HER FAVORITE PART

It was unsigned and he sat there for several moments just staring at the screen before angrily deleting the message. The fact that someone would send this to his grieving friend raised his hackles and that they had done so anonymously just added to anger. He was trying his best to help Mike through this. He had even suggested he take Lauren's date proposal and begin to move on.

What was the point to it? What was the sender's sick goal? To rub salt in an already raw wound? Did they get off on such things? What was the fucking _point_?

_Her favorite part._ The last line came back to him, pausing his tirade. It struck a memory of a phone conversation nearly a year and a half ago. It was mostly forgotten by what had happened after. Her favorite part hadn't been the Zambonie.

_Coming home with you._

Before the Zambonie, that was her favorite part. How had the sender known that? As far as he knew the transmission had never been sent he was the only one besides those two that had heard her say it. And he never told anyone.

Now curious, he went to the trash folder hoping the server hadn't erased it right away. Luck was on his side, and he read through the message again.

_Hockey for Boyscout._

This kind of coded message was eerily familiar.

An idea struck him and he pulled up another web page. Checking the local listings he sat back in his chair, perplexed.

The Kings were playing that week in LA.

Who was trying to set up a meeting? Weiss leaned back in his chair, eyes glazed and staring through the screen. Whoever it was was not going to meet Mike, at least not then. He had an idea of where the meeting would be and when the sender of this email showed up he would give him a piece of his mind. Maybe even a piece of his gun.

_-end Chapter One_

Okay, so there's a little Weiss Lurv here.


	3. Chapter 3

Tell No One -- Chapter Two  
**Author:** CatherineBruce  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** I own nuthin! Didn't break 'em, I only borrowed 'em! Any emotional stress these characters display after I return them was already there. I swear it!  
**Spoilers:** Up to 'The Telling' with information found out in Season Three. AU.  
**Author's Notes:** This story takes place during those Two Years. Definitely AU, definitely a WIP. Wasn't really sure which category to place it so I plopped it here. Hopefully I won't face a flogging squad and be flogged with Slimy Things!

Thanks to Twichie for making this all pretty!

"Have I ever told you that I _hate_ this game?" Weiss readjusted his padding in a futile attempt to cover the more sensitive areas of his body more effectively. However, he found this was like trying to discreetly pick a wedgie on a hot sweaty July afternoon. It wasn't happening.

He felt like a knight of the old ages, weighted down with bulky armor and only a sword to defend him. Or in _this_ case, a six foot bent stick.

Mike moved from side to side, concentrating on the pucks before him. "That's because you don't." Without warning Mike drew back his own bent stick, and with a loud _crack_ that echoed through the icy arena one of the pucks hurtled toward the goal post.

Toward Weiss.

At an insane rate of speed.

Eric barely had time to move his stick before the puck careened between his skates. It ricocheted off of the metal post and for a moment he was his own pinball game. "Okay, I _don't_ hate it. I _love_ hockey. What I _hate_ is playing with you. Especially when you get like this."

"Like what?" Three more shots were fired in rapid succession.

Forget the knight; he was the little blonde boy form the old 'Calvin and Hobbes' strips. The rabid pucks hurtling toward him had gnashing sharp carnivorous teeth and each was after his poorly padded flesh.

After barely surviving the onslaught, he held up his hands in defeat. "Okay, that's it. I'm done." He made a hasty exit before Vaughn could decide to lobby another attack. At the first bench he came to he began to peel out of the pads and the helmet. A chill ran through him as the sweat on his forehead cooled at the sudden temperature shift. Mike's helmet soon joined his.

It didn't take an observant person to notice the whole lot of 'not looking at best friend' happening. "Come on man, seriously. What's going on?" He picked up an overpriced bottle of sports drink, took a quick swallow and absently noted that it was his favorite flavor. Blue.

Mike was silent for a couple moments. Though he remained silent, Weiss could see that he was struggling with something. As he came to some sort of conclusion he looked Eric directly in the eyes for the first time in a while. "I think I might be losing my mind." And then the moment was over and he returned to looking everywhere else.

Had it not been for the seriousness he saw in his friend's eyes, Weiss would have believed the words to have been spoken in jest. He sat down on the bench, focused intently on the conversation now. "What do you mean?"

Another moment of silence passed and then he spoke. He started from the beginning. Weiss knew it was because that was the way Mike spoke slowly and chose each word carefully. "I always wanted to have a normal life, you know? As much as someone at the agency could have at any rate. Wife. Kid. Dog. Barbeques. Petty fights over the phone bill. The things that 'Everyday Joe' had. Then one day I realized that that wasn't what I wanted anymore. At least not if it meant having it without her. Which I couldn't, because it was _wrong_ and against _policy_. And it could have gotten her killed." Mike sat down on the bench beside Eric. He grabbed the bottle and took a drink himself.

"Then one day things changed, and suddenly I could –_we_ could have all that if we wanted. And then it was as though everything had shifted again, and instead of wanting a normal life all I want is _her_, and if we never had a picket fence or kids or phone bill spats it would all be better than anything else I could have imagined because she would be there. Then one day I woke up and she wasn't. She was gone along with forgotten dreams of normalcy." He laughed then though it was more to keep the tears away than from actual mirth. "I think I may have actually lost my mind months ago but am just now realizing it."

Weiss thought about the copy of the e-mail he carried in his coat pocket. He had brought it along, tempted to ask Mike what he could make of it. Now knew that his original gut instinct to keep this to himself had been correct. "Have you been having the dream again?" He had known about the nightmare. He had even been there the first time it came. It had been the night of the memorial service. Since then it had been easy to tell when it would come again by the way Mike held himself. But it had been so long since the last time that Weiss had nearly forgotten what it was like.

"Yeah, I had the dream. First time in a while. But that's not the reason I'm questioning my sanity. Or at least not the whole reason. I've been talking to her." Weiss's head shot up in alarm, and Vaughn shook his head. "I know that she's gone and no amount of pretending is going to bring her back, but talking to her is what kept me sane those first couple of weeks. I didn't care that she didn't answer back yet. I didn't care that the only person in the room while I was talking was a half insane grieving drunk. I _talked_ to her, and it helped." The intense look in his eyes sent a chill down Eric's spine. He hadn't known that.

He almost gave the obvious and glib 'So, did you talk about me?' when something Mike said caught his attention. "What do you mean, _yet_?"

"A couple weeks ago I was just telling her about my day, just rambling to the walls about that teaching position I'm looking into. About half an hour into the conversation I swear to God Weiss I heard her plain as can be. It was as though she were right there next to me."

There were probably a lot of things he could have done at this point, but the only thing he could think of doing was to just let his friend talk. "What did she day?"

"I never pictured you as the professor type, Vaughn," he said, his words rushed. "That was it, but I _heard_ it. At first I thought it was just a regular trick of my mind, but it _kept_ happening. Just a few times at first, but now nearly every time she answers."

"Have you told Barnett?"

"Not yet. I didn't plan on it at first, but now..." Vaughn sighed. "I've also decided to try for that normal life. See if I can still get something I wanted. So I'm going to call Lauren tonight."

Jetlag was perhaps the worst part about her job. She had been surprised at how much traveling she actually did. Especially since she hadn't made the selection for field training.

_Thanks a lot, Daddy._

Lauren heaved a long suffering sigh as she dropped her suitcase and carry-on off at the entryway before stretching the aching muscles in her back. All she wanted to do now was to sink into a nice long bubble bath with a glass of wine and Bach to keep her company.

While not nearly as large as what she was used to while growing up, her apartment of considerable in size. Her father had found it for her while she had been in the process of moving to Los Angeles. She suspected that the moderate rent was more through his persuasion than through the landlord's generosity.

Out of everything in the apartment perhaps her favorite thing was the large claw footed tub. It was wide and deep. Though unlike her taller friends in college, she had never personally had problems fitting into a tub. It felt wonderful to be enveloped by so much smooth porcelain.

She adjusted the faucet so the water was almost too hot to bear before she grabbed what she needed from the other rooms. The wine was already chilled and the stereo still had the Bach CD from her last bath. As she was grabbing a large fluffy towel from the hall closet her cell pone rang. She contemplated ignoring it. For a moment she pictured just one evening to herself with no interruptions. However her mother had said she would call tonight. Risking a glance at the caller ID, she saw that it was indeed the home number.

With a groan she flipped the phone open. "Hello?

"Lauren sweetheart, how was your trip?" The sounds of her father moving about in the background caused her to smile. It broadened as she heard his request to pass on his love.

"It went fine. Everything went as expected." Testing the water temperature, she poured in a few capfuls of vanilla scented soap and then with a shrug she added one more. Tonight was an 'extra bubbles' kind of night.

As she prepared her bath, her mother spent the next couple minutes in idle chitchat. She could still hear the sounds of her father moving about in the background. Finally, "So, what about that nice young man you told me about last time? Anything happen with him yet?"

"No mother, not yet. Things are still pretty much the same and I'm not sure it will go anywhere, really." She wasn't in the mood for this. Not tonight. Her back ached from the uncomfortable airplane seat and she just wanted to forget the smarmy business man with gingivitis who had sat beside her on the tortuously long flight.

"Well, I would work on that if I were you, missy!" Beneath the teasing tone was the slightest edge that sent a chill down Lauren's spine. Then it was gone and her mother's voice was cheerful once more. "I want to have grandchildren before I'm too old to spoil them!"

"I'll get on that, mother." The bubbles nearly reached the top of the rim. She turned the water off and the sudden silence filled the air. "I'll call you if there are any changes."

"See that you do. Well, I have my luncheon to get to. Kisses, love! Would you like to speak to your father before you go?"

Before she could get the chance to protest she heard the phone being shuffled around. Then she heard her father's deep voice. "Hello Princess, how's Los Angeles treating my baby girl?"

Lauren felt a genuine fondness as a smile softened her face. "Hello Dad, I'm fine." For several more minutes they spoke before he had to leave for a meeting as well. After she wished him a good day, she sat the phone on the tub's ledge and slipped out of the rest of her clothes.

After pressing play on the stereo and pouring a glass of wine, she slipped into the warm bath. The extra minutes spent talking to her family had cooled the water slightly more than her liking and the bubbles weren't nearly as she would have liked, but it felt heavenly all the same.

Not more than five seconds passed before the cell rang again. In frustration she slapped the water, sending a spray of bubbles and water onto the linoleum. She barely resisted doing the same to the irksome piece of hardware. Instead, she brought it up and checked the caller ID, her nose scrunching at the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?" She hoped her annoyance wasn't too obvious.

"Lauren, its Michael. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Michael! No, it's a fine time. I just wasn't expecting your call. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing work related. I just called to see if you were doing anything this weekend." He kept his voice interested and neutral, but she could still hear the reluctance underneath. _We'll have to exercise some of his demons. _

As she mentally drew up her schedule for the week, she groaned. "I have to be at a conference in DC on Saturday." A solution came to mind, and she mouthed a quick 'thank you' to the ceiling. Perhaps now her mother would let her have a moment of peace. "We could do something before that if you would like. Dinner tomorrow, perhaps?" She settled back in the tub once more, free hand playing with the bubbles as they made final plans. Then the conversation drifted, and they were talking about nothing in particular. As the conversation went on, she found herself genuinely smiling or laughing at something he said.

_Perhaps,_ she thought to herself before she hung up, _this won't be so bad after all._

Vaughn stared at the receiver for a long time after he hung up with Lauren. He remembered a time in his life when he would have felt good for making a successful first date. A sense of pride, even.

All he felt this time was hollow.

Sure, there was that nervousness in the pit of his stomach. It was that 'oh s, _now_ what do I do?' feeling when the plans had been made and the next step was waiting to be made. Other things flitted through his brain, congratulating him on a job well done for not making some stupid remark.

All of that was on the surface, though. Under it all was the hollow acceptance that he was finally taking steps to move on with his life. It was time to let go of Sydney and perhaps he could come close to finding what he had with her again. Only this time it would be with another woman. It was something he needed to do though, before he went mad. It still didn't stop him from feeling like s.

He tossed the phone on the counter and then sprawled on the couch. The blank television screen stared at him accusingly. The warped image of himself alone on the couch caused him to turn his face back toward the cushion.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into the cushions.

Silence was his only response and he felt himself sink deeper into the hollow.

-end Chapter Two


End file.
